Where have all the cowboys gone?

Jesus GOD, now I have that song in my head. Well, share in my pain.

I will cut straight to the chase:

No, I didn't leap in the frigid Arctic waters of the Gulf of Maine on New Year's.

Oh, sit and spin! It was like freakin' 12 degrees without the windchill and the water had sea-ice on it! And the tide was going out! And there have been wereshark sightings! And there was unspeakable sea-jizz on the beach!

Believe me when I tell you that I really, really wanted to do it, but I thought that watching my extremities go gray with nip probably wouldn't have been the sanest way to spend a nice midwinter's day. Instead, I drank a fifth of Jim Beam and shaved the eyebrows off a passed-out vagrant in the Greyhound Bus terminal.

Hahahahaha! That's not true!

*ahem*

Christmas came and went this year with me feeling a little more charitable and festive than usual. Well, I mean in opposition to years past, when I would stomp children in the malls and deliver Salvation Army bell-ringers to their makers with the Letter-Opener of Divine Intervention. Part of the reason for my unusual level of festivity is that I, now that I am gainfully employed, didn't have to sell my other cornea for Christmas gifts for my "loved ones"; the other is that I

made a sacred vow to the Baby Jesus

that I would be better about the holiday that celebrates His miraculous birth.

Now, I'm not a particularly religious person. I mean, how could I be? You've read this 'blog, and if you were to believe that half of the things I've written about happened, I'd be giving colonoscopies to Katie Couric in Hell for eternity for just that. However, shortly before Thanksgiving last I found myself in my car hurtling through space at nearly 85 MPH towards Cincinnati Airport to pick up my sister, and two accidents on previous stretches of the highway had delayed me for an hour and a half. My sister had told me expressly that she would, if I were not there to pick her up when she landed,make a boa out of my steaming innards and feed me my sweetmeats.

{Secret Domonic Fact Number 11,289: Domonic fears his sister first among all other human beings.}

So there I was, driving insanely fast, when I realized that if I were to be caught by The Fuzz that I would go down so hard that the light from 'fecked' wouldn't reach me for 4.2 billion years.
At that point, with my foot still crammed down onto the accelerator, I opened myself to base supplication.

"Baby Jesus", I said, "should You deliver me to Cincinnati in time to pick up my sister without being sodomized by police officers, I shall be festive on Thy birthday."

He gurgled in His hay-scented manger, and it came to pass that I got to the airport with more than twenty minutes to spare. In return, I thought nothing unclean about His holiday, I made our home festive, and I chose thoughtful, heartfelt gifts for my loved ones.

It nearly KIRRED me. Next year will be a little less hateful, I have to assume - and by 2010, I may actually be able to watch more than the opening credits of "It's a Wonderful Life" without evacuating my bowels and the contents of my stomach simultaneously.

***

Is anyone out there? I know I've been a bad 'blogger as of late, but once the routine of this semester snaps in, I should be getting on here three times a week at least.

Because...

If nobody reads this...

I may have to retire the 'blog. [transparently veiled threat!]

***

Next 'blog:

1) What the hell did I do in Maine?
2) How did I spend the night of January 03 and 04, and why is my toilet now a biohazard zone?
3) Can you hit me baby one more time?



Hugs and mermaid scales,

Domonic